


What We're Worth

by eadunne2



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Class Differences, Drug Abuse, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Happy Ending, Multi, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:10:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4366103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eadunne2/pseuds/eadunne2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m glad you’re back,” Dean said almost shyly as they carried the dirty dishes to the sink. “I missed you.”</p><p>Cas leaned over from where he’d started the water running and kissed Dean’s neck sweetly. When Cas’s teeth brushed over Dean’s clavicle he began to suspect some ulterior motives. </p><p>“Me too. I’m glad to be back to a real bed and home cooked meals.” He glanced coyly from under his eyelashes at Dean, humor softening the obvious exclusion of something else he missed. </p><p>Dean played along. “Mm-hm. I hear those hotel beds can be a bitch.”</p><p>Cas ran the plates under the water pretending not to be distracted by Dean’s hands creeping across his hips. “Awful.”</p><p>“And you can’t live off of fast food.”</p><p>“Obviously.” Cas’s voice had dropped quite a bit since Dean had started nosing at the nape of his neck. </p><p>Dean untucked Cas’s shirt slowly, watching his long fingers in the water. “Must’ve been awful for you.”</p><p>Cas nodded distractedly. “Just awful.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We're Worth

**Author's Note:**

> I love a little angst, and then some smut and fluff. So here's that.
> 
> TW: Cas uses drugs as a coping mechanism (mildly and briefly) and there is mention of an overdose but it's in passing and everyone is fine.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy.

The first time Dean saw him was the day the Novak family moved in. 

Dean had been leaning on one of the entryway columns alternately blowing across the surface of his third coffee, desperately attempting to cool it down, and scalding the shit out of the inside of his mouth as he decided he needed caffeine more than he needed taste buds. It was a vicious cycle. 

They looked no different from any of the other stinking rich families that lived in the building. Fit but wan, well-dressed but tired, dark clothing, shiny car. Dean had heard about the Novaks. The patriarch had died three years ago, sudden heart attack, painfully ironic after his millions made in the pharmaceutical industry. 

The mother figure was tall but the son was taller. The girl was small, but Dean guessed around the same age as the boy. They were both wrapped in black pea coats and Dean felt briefly underdressed in his leather jacket until he remembered that, oh yeah, he wasn’t a tenant. He was the help.

The mother tipped the valet, but Dean could tell by Vic’s expression that it was poorly. The boy didn’t make eye contact with a single person, not even Benny, who held the door and greeted them warmly. Fucker, Dean thought to himself. How could anyone ignore Benny?

He saw them again later, Dean was doing repairs to the light fixtures down the hall from their condo. The lamps were beautiful but old, and had a tendency to short out. Dean had replaced the circuitry in so many of them throughout the building that he thought about requesting a day off to finish the job, but there were other things to be done: Ms. James’s washing machine hook-up, Phil Carter’s window screens, the unexplained hole in the Levi’s kitchen wall (Dean’s bet was drunken fist fight, but it remained a mystery.)

Mrs. Novak was preaching to the redheaded girl about the importance of modesty to a young woman’s success. It appeared they were on their way back from dinner, a bag from a delicious Italian place down the street clutched in the girl’s hand, though after a snide comment from the mother about remaining trim, she dropped it into the waste basket at the end of the hall. Dean seriously considered digging it out when he finished the repair. As he climbed down from the ladder he saw the boy wrap an arm around the girl and press a kiss to her hair, putting his body between her and the mother. 

Dean knew that gesture. It had long been in his arsenal.  
__

Chicago winters were bitter, but not everything about them was awful. Around the back of the apartment complex, Dean’s basement apartment was frigid, but Ellen cooked for the staff most nights, and it was always something hearty and warm. Tonight he carried a thermos of tea and a bowl of beef stew out the door intending to take it to his apartment. Technically it was the control room, full of dials and pipes and switches, but he had a couch that doubled as a bed and set of drawers he’d dragged from a dumpster, and between the steam from the water heater, the body heat he caught under several blankets, and a shot of whiskey, he stayed comfortable most nights. 

He walked quickly, hoping to get inside before his food cooled too much when he noticed the Novak boy. He stood to the side of the door, smoking a cigarette and looking out over the river. It was a beautiful view. Dean had spent many nights doing the exact same thing. 

As he walked past, he realized the boy was actually in his twenties, close to his own age. He was crying. 

“Hey man. You ok?”

The guy froze, twitching away from Dean. He blinked tears from surprisingly blue eyes. A look of breathtaking vulnerability flooded his face then cleared abruptly, covered by a mask of nonchalance. “Leave me alone,” he growled.

Dean stepped back, surprised at the change in emotion, then shrugged. He should’ve known. He didn’t bother responding, just wiggled his worn jacket higher on his shoulders and kept moving towards his apartment, dinner in hand.

____

 

When he met Anna, it was under less than desirable circumstances. She and Mrs. Novak were hurrying down the stairs and into the dining area. It was appallingly early and in Dean’s old life he’d never have been awake before the sun was up, but there was work to be done, so here he was.

“It’s just not a worthwhile endeavor sweetheart.”

“Mother…” Anna paused, fiddling with a strand of red hair that had fallen from where she’d pinned it up on top of her head. “I think it’s the right thing to do.”

“The right thing?” Naomi scoffed. “It’s not at all a prestigious position.”

“No,” Anna replied carefully, “But it would allow me to help people.”

Her mother scoffed into her coffee. “Your salary would be laughable.”

Anna shrugged. “It would be enough.”

A muscle twitched in the older woman’s cheek before she said, “You’re not being reasonable.” Her voice sounded hard. Final.

“Mother-“

“No darling, listen. There are plenty of eligible bachelors in this town.”

“Even if I marry, mother, I’d still like my own life.”

Naomi shook her head, exasperated. “Ridiculous,” she muttered.

“Dad would’ve supported me in this!” The emphasis on the word ‘Dad’ was not lost on Dean, but he was not expecting the resulting slap. 

The diamond on Naomi’s ring sliced into Anna’s cheek, but the girl was covering her mouth, not her face, as if to rein in whatever noises were attempting to escape as her mother snapped, “Learn to keep a civil tongue, Anael,” and turned on her heel out the front door.

Unthinking, Dean hurried from behind the counter he’d been wiping down to where Anna stood, hand still pressed firmly over her lips. “Are you alright?”

When she didn’t move, not even her eyes, Dean softened his voice to almost a whisper. “Anna. I’d like to clean that cut on your cheek. Would that be ok?” 

She looked at him, finally, eyes damp, and nodded very slowly. Touching only her elbow, he led her to a chair where she sat staring at her knees. Grateful for the dispenser of hot water in the breakfast lounge, Dean quickly set tea to steep in a cup in front of her before grabbing the first aid kit from the staff room and plopping down next to her. 

“This may sting a little.” 

She gave a weak smile, apparently finally finding her voice as she said, “I know. Thank you.” 

He cleaned the cut and was part way through applying vitamin E oil to the plane of her cheek when her brother skidded into the room, button up shirt hanging open over a pair of black slacks. He looked dazed and hungover and freshly rolled out of bed, and Dean didn’t look away quite quick enough to miss the sharp hipbones and lithe muscle. 

“Anna I’m so sorry, I got her started and she just left- What the fuck did you do to my sister,” he snarled as he surveyed the scene.

Dean ground his teeth at the accusation and ignored him. Anna intervened. 

“Castiel. Calm down. Mother got…carried away.” 

Castiel crouched next to her and took her chin in his hand. “She did this?” he murmured, voice tight. Anna chewed her lip, which was answer enough. Dean took the moment of silence to tape a long, thin strip of gauze to the cut. He patted her shoulder and held out a packet of the vitamin E oil. “Here. Use this. Helps prevent scarring.”

“Wait!” Anna called. “What’s your name?”

He gave her a smile but it wasn’t his real one. “Dean. I hope you feel better, Anna.”

On his way back to the kitchen to finish prepping, Castiel’s smoke rough voice spoke, almost too quiet to be heard, “Thank you, Dean.”

Castiel was whispering soothingly to Anna, so he saw neither Dean’s eye roll nor his smile.

___

Dean was balancing on the top rung of a very old, very shitty ladder, reaching to change the battery of the smoke detector when he heard a noise and very nearly plummeted to his doom.

“Holy fuck!” He dropped to the floor in a surprisingly graceful movement and straightened to see Castiel, who looked as if he were holding back a laugh for a moment.

“They said the apartment would be empty,” Dean muttered crossly.

“Sorry,” Cas grunted as he shuffled to the counter and started the coffee maker. “I slept in. What are you doing?” He looked sleepy, vulnerable and strangely sweet in an oversized black tee and boxers. Dean promptly climbed back up the ladder in order to keep himself from staring at Cas’s quads which were tan and impressive and totally off limits.

“Smoke detector, window sealing, general walk through.” He finished tightening the screws on the smoke detector and dropped back to the floor with significantly more grace than the first time. “Anything to add?” 

Cas shook his head slowly, and Dean realized he was looking at the tattoos that ran the lengths of both of his arms, clearly visible beneath his work polo. He stifled a grin, quickly moving to fold up the ladder and carry it to the entryway. 

“Thank you by the way,” Cas called from the kitchen as Dean grabbed the duffle bag of supplies and proceeded to the living room. 

“It’s no problem man. Just doin’ my job,” Dean replied, poking at the window frames to check for leaks.

“No, not that,” Cas said. “I mean yes, thank you. But I was talking about Anna.”

He appeared in the doorway, sipping his coffee, and Dean shrugged, pleased and embarrassed. “It was nothing.”

Cas shuffled his feet in the carpet. When he spoke, it was soft enough that Dean wasn’t quite sure he was supposed to hear. “I…I try to take care of her but I don’t always…do the best job.” 

Dean noticed the familiar self loathing in Cas’s voice. Though he was too self-conscious to turn around and look at the guy he said, “Yeah, I hear ya. I’ve got a little brother and I look out for him. Maybe too much sometimes, you know? I think it makes him a little crazy that I always put him first, but someone’s got to.”

“Where is he?”

“Stanford,” Dean grinned. “He’s fuckin’ brilliant.” He glanced over his shoulder at Castiel. “Go easy on yourself, man. Anna knows you love her. And it’s not your fault your mom’s crazy.” It was blunt, but true, and Dean didn’t see any arguing the fact, though he knew the statement could easily start an argument. He didn’t really care if Cas yelled at him, or laughed, or agreed.

Instead though, Dean watched Cas’s face in the window reflection slide into complete blankness. Dean knew that look. Cas’s body was present, but he had left Dean alone.

Ignoring the sound of retreating feet, Dean forced himself back to the task at hand and away from the sinking feeling in his chest. Turned out there was only one window that needed any extra sealing, and Dean quickly got to work cutting the insulation into the correct lengths. 

Several times throughout the process he had to refocus his mind, clearing the worry and guilt and pressing it into clean, bland, nothingness. Why did he keep returning to this guy? When the super told him about the repairs needed in the Novak apartment, he’d been strangely eager to see inside and not for the reason the rest of the staff was. 

They wanted to see the money, and Dean…Dean just wanted a glimpse into the life of the strange blue-eyed man that would not leave his mind, despite his best efforts. Dean knew how this kind of money tainted, stained, broke apart into pieces that its owners then spent decades trying to gather together. But something about this guy felt…familiar. Right.

 

He shook his head. Focus.

After the windows he did a quick walk through of the apartment. He thought he was being attentive, doing his very best to stay out of the way, he didn’t notice Castiel in the study until the piano chords rumbled through the sleek wooden floorboards and into his ankles. 

He jerked up from where he was double-checking the seals on the bay windows. Castiel’s hair was shower damp and hanging in little curls over his forehead. He wore tight black jeans and a button up with maybe a few too many of the top buttons left undone, and Dean watched the shadow dance over his clavicle as he played. 

The music was exquisite, but the man…

His eyes were glassy, far away, the insane navy of his irises faded a little by the reddish tint of the no-longer-whites of his eyes. The roll of his body he swayed was beyond languid. 

Dean knew that look. He spent almost two decades protecting his little brother from it. Despite having two more rooms to check over, Dean dropped to his knee and packed up his duffle swiftly, must more haphazardly than usual, and made for the exit when Castiel’s voice called, “Dean…have a cup of coffee with me.” His voice was tired. Airy. There was a pause where he collected his thoughts before continuing, “Least I can do after your help…”

When Dean turned to look at him, he was standing in the middle of the room, body loose, hands tucked in his pocket. The smile on his lips made Dean’s chest hurt, wide and gummy and shallow, emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes. 

He was still beautiful. He made Dean want to cry

“No thank you,” Dean said. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Appropriate?” Cas took a step forward, one eyebrow quirked incredulously. “What are you talking about.”

Dean took a step back, fighting the magnetism he felt, immersing himself in the familiar ache of disappointment to help break the tie. “I work for you, Castiel. I’m an employee and you are a tenant.” He steeled himself before the worst part. “Have a nice day sir.”

He practically ran out of the apartment, but not quickly enough to miss the broken, “Fuck you.”

__ 

“Sam sounds happy,” Ellen commented as she and Dean meandered along the riverwalk, sipping hot drinks and bumping shoulders. 

“Yeah,” Dean grunted through a mouthful of coffee. “He likes his professors a lot this semester. Plus there’s a cute girl in his study group so…”

“Oh Jesus, you Winchesters,” Ellen snarked, but Dean knew her well enough to hear the smile in her voice. 

Ellen was a bastion, a lighthouse in the Winchester boys otherwise clusterfucked lives. She’d lived in Chicago all her life, and when John “misplaced” his kids, or when things went too far off the rails for Dean to deal with (i.e. Sam’s overdose), or best of all, when they actually ended up in Chicago on purpose, she was there for them, hot meals and snarky comments and hugs so tight they couldn’t quite breathe. Dean called her his foster mother, and to be awarded that title was a big fucking deal.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, the Hyatt has an opening for an engineer and groundskeeper. I think it’s up ten thou from your pay here, you should look in to it.”

“Hmmm.” Dean hummed, noncommittal. He knew he wasn’t going to look into it. Apparently Ellen knew too. 

“Dean.” Her voice was stern. “Stop.”

He paused midstride. “Stop…what?”

“Stop punishing yourself”

Dean scoffed. “Ellen, I’m not - ”

“The shit that happened with Sam, and your father, none of it was your fault. You deserve some normalcy, Dean.

“I was there Ellen. I fucked up. You don’t need to sugar coat it.”

“I’m not. You’re bright and kind and hardworking and you’re living a half-life as penance for experiences you never should have had to deal with in the first place!”

“Leave it alone Ellen!”

He immediately apologized, heart heavier than before with the guilt of yelling at her. But she was wrong. And he was tired of hearing about fault and responsibility and blame. He knew the truth.

___

The ballroom took forever to clean. There was hardwood floor where the food was served, a dance floor that needed to be waxed, and endless carpet that he’d just finished vacuuming after rolling countless tables to the periphery. It was exhausting, and it was already somewhere in the two a.m. hour, but Dean didn’t mind. It was better than he deserved. 

Plus, the late hour meant the first floor was deserted enough that he could sing without anyone noticing. 

“When I fall in love, it will be forever, or I’ll never fall in love….”

He wasn’t particularly good, but he liked singing, songs his mother had sung when he was small, songs his father carried around on worn cassette tapes until he was arrested and sent to jail. The familiar words and tunes danced around him, hung on his bones like comfortable clothing, relaxing him.

So immersed was he in his process of mopping over the hardwood flooring that he missed a few small fluttering notes played on the baby grand in the corner of the room, finding the key. He damn well noticed when the chords rolled out under the vaulted ceilings.

He straightened as if electrocuted to see Castiel sitting crosslegged on the piano bench, playing through the phrases of When I Fall In Love. His eyes stayed fixed on the keyboard, but Dean noticed his jaw clench nervously then the corner of his mouth twitch up, and that little gesture was enough to undo him. Without preface or transition, he began singing again.

In the time it took for them to work twice through the song, Dean finished mopping the floor, and as he grabbed the towels and wax and headed to the dance floor he switched tunes. 

“Stars shinin’ bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper…” It only took Cas a few bars to catch the key signature, and he joined in again, looser, walking the bass line down with a little bounce that Dean matched as he scrubbed the wax into the floor. 

After that, Cas started in on Proud Mary and Dean stood up to belt out the last chorus and they ended up laughing themselves breathless as Cas soloed to a close. In the silence that hung after, in a move of either self-sabotage or self-preservation, Dean checked Cas’s eyes for sobriety. He was surprised to see clarity, if exhaustion. 

“You’re pretty good,” he said softly, gesturing to the piano. 

“And you,” Cas nodded, a tired smile still hovering on his lips. 

As Dean returned to finish the last few feet of dance floor he observed, “You’re up late.” He most certainly did not watch as Castiel stood up and stretched, fitted tee clinging lovingly to the muscles of his back. 

“Mother’s been particularly…insufferable. We argued. I’m still…wound up.”

Instead of a number of suggestions about how Dean could help him unwind, he said, “Sorry to hear that.”

Cas shrugged. “Eh. You were right. She’s crazy.”

Dean grimaced. “I should’ve put that more tactfully, man.”

“Perhaps. I probably owe you an apology as well though.”

Finally finished, Dean stood, wincing at the pinch in his lower back. “No! No. It’s fine.” He was the one that needed to be making amends.

Cas was watching him curiously, hands in his pockets, lip tucked between his teeth. For a moment, Dean thought he saw something like desire flicker in the other man’s eyes, but either he was crazy or it was fleeting, because when he looked again, it was gone. Just as well. 

Dean smiled though, less bawdy and more genuine. “That was my last job for the night. One more tune?”

The laugh Cas gave was more melodious than his rough speaking voice would suggest. Dean ignored the swoop in his chest and joined him on the piano bench.

__

“What are you drawing?”

“Why are you always up at such weird fucking hours?”

Cas settled next to Dean on the steps by one of the building’s side entrances and slid a small Styrofoam cup across the marble to rest next to his leg. Dean finally looked up from his sketchbook. 

“Is that for me?” 

Cas nodded, looking out across the street. “I don’t know how you like your coffee, but you’re always drinking it so…” The streetlights shone a halo in his hair. 

Dean blushed at the knowledge that Cas had been observant enough to notice. “Thank you.” He sipped at it, pleased to find it strong and black. “I’m drawing a blueprint of an alternate layout for the third floor condos. The owner’s remodeling, and there are some flaws in the current design that would be easy to fix.”  
He tried to ignore the heat of Cas’s body and the subtle scent of cologne as he leaned against Dean’s arm to look at the sketch.

“Hmmm. Like what?”

Dean tucked the pen in his mouth thoughtfully. “Well…” he paused. “You really wanna know?” Cas was nice enough, but rich boys like him…

“Dean. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked. Like you, I’m unburdened by tact.”

“Jesus,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Well, the current layout is similar to yours, just a little more cramped. This design would open up the transitional areas, hallways, doorways, etc. The half wall into the kitchen creates a homier feel in my opinion, although the families that have chefs would probably prefer the separation so maybe we’ll go case by case. The priciest addition would be the extra windows, one in the kitchen, one in the den, like yours, one in the bedroom. Light is important.” He glanced up briefly to gauge Cas’s reaction, but instead of analysis or confusion there was the smallest, softest smile on his lips. 

“What?”

“You like this. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

As Cas gestured to Dean’s sketch he said, “You have a good sense of space. Did you draw that freehand? It’s incredibly neat.”

Dean shrugged, but he was biting back a smile.

“Where did you study?”

Ah. There it was. Dean pocketed his pen and flicked the moleskin closed, standing more quickly than his half-asleep legs could handle and breathing through the cramp. 

“Thanks…uh…for the coffee. I gotta get to work.” He checked his watch. Barely even a lie. Quarter to 5.

He heard the rattling of a pill bottle over the sound of the door creaking open, and when Cas came down to breakfast a few hours later, meandering behind Anna and Naomi, his eyes were glassy and his skin was too pale, too dewy. 

It was too familiar, and Dean ducked out to vomit in the staff bathroom.

____

Most of the tenants were out of town for the holidays, and it was an exquisite relief to Dean. There were a total of ten families that lived in the building. Seven of them were on some sort of vacation, the Crowne’s were so old they barely ever left their apartment anyway.

Dean hadn’t seen Anna or Naomi for a few days, and was therefore very surprised to see Castiel slumped in the apartment dining area, nursing a humorously large cup of tea. 

It was technically a half-day for Dean, but he’d been craving the sweet apple cider the building stocked in the breakfast nook during the colder months. At first glance Dean thought Cas might be hung over. At second glance it became clear he was still drunk.

“Goddamnit,” Dean muttered under his breath, but shuffled over anyway. “Hey.”  
He placed a gentle hand on Cas’s shoulder, and the expression Cas gave when he looked up was heartbreakingly sweet and too old for the youth of his face. “What’s goin’ on man?”

Cas shook his head. “Don’t worry. All good.”

He reeked of booze and stale smoke and was shivering slightly. 

“Let’s get you home, ok Cas?”

“Ha.” Cas swayed in his seat, his voice bitter. “Home.”

Dean made a raw little sound, the audible translation of how deeply he understood the sentiment, and it caught Cas’s attention. He gave Dean the first coherent look of the entire conversation. “No home for you either?” he asked softly, reaching up and brushing a long fingertip along the line of Dean’s jaw. 

Under normal circumstances Dean would never have answered, but he figured the guy was fucked enough he might not remember, and for once, he gave an answer. “Not in a long time. It’s not a place anyway though, is it Cas?”

Cas shook his head, accepting Dean’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. “No. A person for sure.”

Figures their most honest conversation occurred when one party was inebriated and the other was still half asleep. 

The two of them stumbled up to Cas’s condo, Dean’s hand on his elbow, tugging his balance back to center as needed. 

Cas managed to open the door, and Dean shoved him in the direction of the bathroom. “Shower. I’ll make you something to eat.” 

For a brief moment it looked like Cas wanted to say something but, even drunk, thought better of it. While the water ran Dean made French toast, bacon, and a pot of strong black coffee, then slumped at the island in the center of the kitchen, put his head down, and fell back asleep.

He woke to cool fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck once, twice, and then withdrawing as he stirred. 

“Mmmm, how was your shower?” Dean blinked as Cas settled next to him with a mug of coffee. 

“Necessary. Did you make breakfast?” 

Dean nodded. “You should eat.”

Cas poked around under the paper towel keeping the bacon warm and pulled out a slice. “Join me?”

Dean observed him before answering. He looked much more hung over and much less drunk, which probably made Cas terribly uncomfortable but made Dean feel infinitely better. Dean couldn’t deal with anyone too fucked up, not even this many years after all the mess with Sam, but it seemed like Cas was coherent enough, so he nodded. “Alright.”

They pulled the plate piled high with syrupy toast and bacon between them and ate with their fingers. Despite the silence, Dean found himself comfortable. 

The growl of Cas’s voice was gentle as he said, “Thank you.” It was the first noise in almost an hour. They’d finished eating long ago. Dean was sketching and Cas was absently flicking through the newspaper. Dean waved a hand, dismissing the thanks. “You’ve taken care of me a lot lately,” Cas continued, ignoring Dean’s dismissal. “Anna, the repairs, this…”

Uncomfortable, Dean shifted. “Really man, it’s nothing.”

“You’re good at this. This helping people thing.”

“Yeah right,” he spat.

The venom in his voice surprised both of them. Dean determinedly returned to his sketch, but Cas continued to stare at him with unnerving focus. “I wish I was like you.”

That was enough to derail him completely. Placing his pen in the spine of his notebook, Dean drained his coffee before saying, “You really don’t.” 

Cas gnawed his lip and Dean flicked his eyes out the window to keep from staring, but listened intently. “I do. You’re personable, all the people you work with love you, the other tenants speak highly of you. You have so many skills-”

The overwhelming knowledge of his own profound inadequacy was probably the driving force behind Dean bursting out, “I didn’t even finish high school, man.”

The silence hung in the room, and Dean waited for Cas to throw him out. Instead, he said, “So?”

“What?”

“Who cares? I went to one of the best high schools in the country and finished three years of college and then I fucking quit. I gave up.”

“Why?” 

It was Cas’s turn to look uncomfortable, but he answered. “My Dad died. One thing led to another…Anna’s finishing up school here, or will be if Mother will fund it, and I can’t leave Anna alone with her. Besides, the degree I was working on wasn’t for me.”

“What do you want to do?”

Dean watched Cas’s long fingers tear strips from the newspaper and roll them into little tubes. 

“My Dad’s old company used to have this incredible charity foundation. I was getting my degree in business with the hope that he’d put me in charge of it some day, but then when he died...” His voice trailed off. “Not really an excuse though, is it?” 

Dean opened and closed his mouth a number of times before saying, “My mom used to say, “Every day is new.” It was more honest than he’d intended, and the familiar wave of panic began to creep in.

“Oh no you don’t.” A strong hand gripped around his wrist and Dean jerked his head up, surprised. “Whenever you get that look, you leave.” Dean opened his mouth to try to argue but Cas cut him off. “Stay. We can change the subject if you want. Just…stay, ok?”

Dean used a trip to the counter to refill his coffee to think about what had just happened. “If you ever want to talk about it…” Cas offered quietly, then as if he read Dean’s mind, immediately followed with, “Tell me about your tattoos.”

Exhaling the tension of a moment ago, Dean turned around with a grin. “You just wanna talk about my body.”

Cas leered back. “Damn right. Take your shirt off. Let me see.”

Surprised, Dean quirked a brow but obeyed. Not because of the sexy, no nonsense command, but because he wanted to see Cas shirtless some day, and he needed leverage. Probably.

The sun from the tall windows streamed down on his shoulders, warming him, slowing his mind, as Cas circled the island and picked up his right arm. “Tell me.”

The right sleeve was a panel of a heavenly battle, all in black and white. Castiel traced over the faces as Dean explained his mother’s affection for angels and his subsequent obsession after her death. Thankfully, Cas didn’t ask any other questions about Mary, but instead moved to the other arm. The left arm was almost entirely covered in text, quotes and fonts from Dean’s favorite books and art and music.

They talked the tattoos that Cas had been thinking about. He’d wanted one forever, but moving back in with Naomi to keep an eye out for Anna had put a kink in that plan. Dean pointed out that Cas could always just get a tattoo in a place Naomi couldn’t see, and Cas rolled his eyes, arguing that he just didn’t want to have to worry about it. While Dean was sad not to see any of that beautiful skin inked, he understood Cas’s reasoning. 

By the time Dean pulled his shirt back over his head, his skin was on fire, tingling in all the places Cas had run his fingers over. 

He stayed in the condo until his shift started. He found himself smiling. He dreamed of chapped lips and eyes that shifted from grey to navy, from pain to joy, in the space of a heartbeat. 

___

“What do you mean? You can’t not have Christmas! What’re you gonna do?”

Cas shrugged. “I dunno. Sleep? Enjoy the peace and quiet? Mother and Anna will be home in a few days.”

“You should come over to Ellen’s.” 

Cas blinked. “I barely know her.”

“You know me. Come on. As my guest. Please?”

Cas smiled, all gums and crinkled eyes. “Yeah, yeah alright.”  
___

Ellen lived in a neighborhood southwest of the downtown area. Cas commented to Dean as they boarded the pink line that he’d never been outside of the downtown area before.

“The fuck? Are you serious?”

Cas smirked ruefully and nodded. 

“Oh my god Cas, I’m a terrible friend. My next day off I’ll take you on a real fuckin’ tour, ok?”

Cas was quiet and bright eyed for a moment before he murmured, “I’d like that.”

The softness in his voice had Dean glancing up at him and then back down immediately when he found he couldn’t breathe. Cas’s cheeks and nose were pink and the scarf that was wrapped high on his throat made his eyes appear even bluer. Worst of all, though, he was looking at Dean with warmth and kindness and absolute clarity.

Dean spent a good chunk of the ride trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his head reminding him that he didn’t deserve this. That he was a failure. He’d let his brother down, he’d done terrible things to keep his family afloat. Cas, even with the drugs and money and crazy family, was so genuine, so kind. He looked at Dean like he was important. Like he was worthy. And Dean couldn’t find it in himself to explain that he wasn’t.

They rode the rest of the way with Cas’s nose almost pressed against the window, watching the city whip past, and Dean…Dean watched Castiel.

Dean watched Cas’s eyes get wistful looking out over rusted train trestles, watched a slow smile creep across his face at a crowd of youngsters hurling snowballs across a park. When they got of the subway he was quiet, but breathing deeply and Dean could empathize. There was something magical about the smell of the city in every season, and right now it was cinnamon from a bakery, cigarette smoke, pine, exhaust, food, ice. 

Dean found himself oddly proud that Cas, who had traveled to countries Dean had never heard of, loved Chicago as much as he did. As much as Dean did. 

Ellen had strictly forbidden them from bringing anything. No food, no gifts, nothing. With anyone else, Dean would’ve ignored it, but Ellen was not to be trifled with. When they knocked on the door, there was a ruckus in the background, Dean could only assume it was Jo, but when the door was thrown open it was not a tiny blonde standing in the threshold, but instead a towering young man.

“Holy shit, Sammy!” The words all got pressed into one as he threw his arms around his brother. “The fuck are you doing here?”

Sam was grinning. “Ellen invited me. Said being halfway across the country was no excuse to miss Christmas with the family.” 

“Damn right!”

Dean momentarily forgot about Cas standing behind him, but then Sam extended a hand over Dean’s shoulder and said, “Hi, I’m Sam, Dean’s brother. You must be Castiel.” 

Cas threw a bemused look at Dean. “I must be,” he murmured, the louder as he shook Sam’s hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sam.”

Sam nodded. “Likewise. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Now Cas was giving Dean a really weird look, amusement and confusion. “And I you.” With social graces that completely escaped Dean, Cas gently shoved him into the house and said, “How was your last semester at Stanford? Dean says you’re studying to specialize in Family Law.”

Sam nodded, holding out a hand for Cas’s coat. “Yeah, with an emphasis on Child Custody cases. And it’s going well. I’m a junior this year, so things are finally getting really interesting.”

The two of them proceeded into the house, and Dean followed feeling so full he thought his chest might explode. There was something about seeing his baby brother and best friend talking like they were old acquaintances that made him want to laugh and then cry.

“Deano!” As the three men traipsed into the kitchen, Dean was ambushed by a tiny stack of skinny limbs and blonde hair launched herself into Dean’s arms.

Laughing, Dean swung her around. “Merry Christmas, Jo.”

“Joanna Beth, let the boy breathe,” Ellen called from the sink. 

Joanna ignored her, opting instead to climb onto Dean’s back as he greeted Ellen with a kiss, and her husband Bobby with a slug to the arm. 

“Ellen, Bobby, Jo, this is my friend Cas.”

There was a brief moment where Dean worried that it would be weird for Ellen since she worked at the apartment building and Cas was a resident, but then she swept up to him and took his face in her hands, warming his pink cheeks between her palms. “Castiel. We’re awful glad you could be here.”

Dean could’ve sworn he saw Cas’s lip quiver for a moment, but then he cleared his throat and said warmly, “Thank you so much for having me.”

“He’s pretty,” Jo whispered into his ear from where she was still perched in her self-imposed piggyback ride.

“Mmm.” Dean wasn’t sure what to say.

“You disagree?”

“Joanna…” he said warningly.

She slid down and slapped his back with a saccharine smile. “I see.”

“You see? See what? What? JO?” he called after her, but she was gone, disappeared into the living room to watch random reruns with Bobby. 

Dean got to work helping Ellen. She always cooked too much food on Christmas and then forced everyone to take the leftovers home, complaining that Dean and Sam were too damn skinny. Sam and Cas settled at the kitchen table to talk about work and school, the proximity close enough that the brothers could harass each other as needed.

“I’m glad you made a friend,” Ellen said, her quiet tone at odds with the vigor with which she was stuffing the turkey. 

Dean didn’t look up from rolling out the crust for the pie dough, but he knew he was smiling. “Yeah. He’s alright.”

“You like him,” Ellen stated.

“Well, duh, Ellen, kinda the point of friends right?”

“Don’t sass me boy. You want him to be more than a friend.”

Dean froze. 

“Don’t worry kiddo, I won’t say anything. But I think he feels the same way.”

“Oh please,” Dean scoffed. “We’ve been here all of an hour. How could you possibly know that?”

“Well, aside from the fact that you two are always spending time together…”

“Oh.” Dean had sort of forgotten that Ellen saw them at the building all the time. 

“He looks at you like you hung the moon.”

“Well, I guess he’s in for a disappointment, huh?”

Ellen plucked a wooded spoon from the counter and rapped him on the back of the head. “Not in this house young man. You will speak respectfully, even of yourself.”

“Jesus Ellen,” Dean murmured, rubbing his head with the hand less covered in flour, but then settled back into food preparations.

“What do you do?” Sam was asking Cas.

“I work for my father’s business. Pharmaceuticals. I work in the marketing department.”

“You don’t like it.”

Surreptitiously, Dean glanced at Cas over his shoulder to see him fiddling with a napkin. “I…It’s no longer the business my father would’ve wanted, and I don’t feel like I’m really helping anyone, you know? I have ridiculously relaxed hours thanks to painfully blatant nepotism, and I spend all my time trying to convince already rich men to use our products to swindle other people out of their money.”

“The medicines don’t work?” 

“No, they do. But we sell them at a ridiculously marked up price. We don’t need to continue holding many of the patents we do, and because we won’t sell them, no one can make generics…It just…leaves much to be desired.”

Cas looked painfully tired for a moment, then changed the subject. “Why family law?”

“Well, Dean and I were raised in…less than desirable circumstances. After our mom died, Dad kind of went off the rails. Drinking, drugs...some of the shit he asked us to help him with- ”

“Sam!” Dean snapped. “Could I talk to you for a sec? Alone?” Sam rolled his eyes, but stood up, and followed Dean into the hallway.

“The fuck are you doing man? That shit is private!” Dean was whispering, but fiercely. 

“It’s not going to scare him off, Dean,” Sam countered sourly. 

“I don’t...It’s not…That’s not what I-”

“It’s not?” Sam was sounding frustratingly know-it-all. “Then what? You think he’s gonna use this against you?”

“No, of course not, I - ”

“Dean.” Cas’s voice rasped over their conversation. “You have the right to have secrets. If there’s something you’d rather I didn’t know, I can respect that. And so can Sam. Right?”

He gave Sam a surprisingly stern look and Sam blinked. “Yeah. Ok.” 

“I’d still like to continue our conversation. Do you think we can do that in a way that doesn’t make Dean uncomfortable?”

Sam looked even more surprised, then let a smile creep across his face. Something about it read as understanding, and Dean had the distinct feeling he’d missed something as Sam nodded and led Cas back to the table.

“What just happened?” Dean whispered to himself. 

The rest of the day flew by. After a painfully large meal, everyone found a place to sit, or in Sam’s case, lie down, in the living room and they marathoned Criminal Minds until Jo fell asleep using Sam as a pillow. Ellen woke them all up sent them on their way, arms full of leftovers. By the time Dean and Cas were back on the subway, it was almost eleven. 

Yawning, Cas murmured, “I like your family.”

Dean’s chest warmed at the fact that although they weren’t blood, Cas knew Ellen, Bobby, and Jo were indeed family. “Yeah, they’re alright.”

“They love you.”

“Seems like they’re pretty fond of you too,” Dean teased. 

Cas smiled shyly. “Wanna come up and sing some Christmas carols before you pass out?”

“Sounds awesome, Cas.”

They sleepily made their way back to the condo. While Cas changed into pajamas, Dean tugged off his sweater and left it hanging over the couch. It looked like Cas’s eyes flitted over his chest when he came back from the bathroom, but it could’ve just been a trick of the light. 

“You want a drink?” Cas asked as he made his way to the minibar.

Dean felt his chest tighten. “N-no, thanks.” Maybe he would be fine. Maybe if Cas just had a shot, maybe two… He watched Cas pour a generous helping of bourbon into a tumbler. “Look, it’s uh…getting late. I should…head downstairs.” 

He stood, pulling his sweater from the couch, feeling the familiar panic begin to build. 

“Dean.”

“Thanks for-uh-coming with me today. I h-had a good time.” Where the fuck were his keys?

“Dean.”

“I’ll see you later, Cas.” Like he would want to hang out after this. Now he’d know how crazy Dean really was. “Or n-not, whatever…I…uh…Merry Christm-”

“Dean.”

Long fingers wrapped around his wrist and spun him. “You don’t like intoxicants.” Not a question. 

Dean shrugged, a half-assed attempt at liberating his arm. “People can do what they want. I’m not gonna judge.” 

“Right. But it bothers you when I use them.”

He finally succeeded in reclaiming his wrist. “It’s…it’s nothing, Cas.”

Cas’s face fell, and Dean hadn’t even realized he’d been looking…happier? Healthier? Until that grief swept back into his eyes. It broke Dean’s heart that he’d put that pain back.

This time it was Dean’s turn to reach out and touch. His fingers wrapped around the hem of Cas’s shirt and he focused there instead of looking at Cas’s eyes. 

“My…my father is an addict. After my mom died he went kinda ape-shit. Dragged us from place to place avoiding debt collectors. He was a mess. We all were.”

A quick glance up told him that Cas was simply watching him, head tilted, but the sadness wasn’t quite so pronounced. Heartened, Dean continued. 

“We always needed money. He’d ask us to steal, and we did. From nice, normal people, some of ‘em were just trying to help…” He rubbed a hand across his forehead a few times. “I don’t fuckin’ know. It got to both of us, and I didn’t realize, but Sam would steal Dad’s stuff occasionally. The worst part was, it started out kinda legit. Uppers to help him study, pain pills when we didn’t have insurance and he fucked up his back, opiates for sleep in the back of the car…”

He didn’t realize his voice had been softening. The thought that kept circling in his mind was the genuineness with which Cas granted him permission to have secrets back at Ellen’s. It was that comment that made this possible now. Cas wasn’t pushing, and Dean found himself wanting to give the truth. 

“He overdosed. He was sweating and crying and hallucinating…I tried to get him to a hospital, but he’s so big, ya know, and we never had insurance…I spend the night with him on the bathroom floor forcing water down his throat. Shoulda called a fuckin’ ambulance…”

He sniffed, confused about the dampness on his face. “It scares you,” Cas said quietly. He tugged the hem of his shirt from Dean’s grasp and lifted it wiped gently at Dean’s cheeks so sweetly it made things worse. 

Dean nodded an affirmative. “Why do you guys have to escape? Why aren’t I enough?” 

That sentence was apparently too much for both of them. He stepped back abruptly as Cas said harshly, “Jesus. Fuck. Dean, of course you’re enough.” 

Laughing bitterly and shaking tears from his eyes, Dean muttered, “Nah. It’s all good.” 

He went to leave when he heard Cas say, “I didn’t cry at my father’s funeral. I thought if I didn’t mourn him, then it wasn’t real.” He was staring at the floor, arms limp at his sides. “I took his left over pain pills. Thought it would make me feel closer to. And then it was just easier to lose myself then to find myself, in pills, in people…Three years of phoning it in and pretending that Dad’s just on a business trip and that Mother is totally normal and not abusive at all and now all of a sudden I’m practically sober because-” He paused and Dean watched his fists clench and unclench.

“Because?” Dean prompted softly.

Cas looked back up, a helpless half-smile on his mouth and shine to his eyes. “Because…you.”

“Cas,” Dean breathed. “I’m no good. I’m a thief and an asshole…you shouldn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Shut up!” Cas yelled, fisting Dean’s collar. “You’re…I’m…Would you just…” And then, as if surrendering to his inability to communicate verbally, he tugged Dean to him and smashed their lips together. 

Every though in Dean’s mind about keeping his distance, about what he deserved, flew out into the cold winter air. The lips he’d spent weeks staring at were warm and soft, and Cas caught the little sounds escaping from Dean’s throat between them. 

Now that the smooth lines of Cas’s body were beneath his palms, Dean found himself unable to stop touching. He ran his hands up Cas’s back and out over his shoulders, then up into his hair, tugging ever so lightly at first, then unintentionally harder when Cas growled into his mouth. 

“Fuck, Cas,” he panted. 

Cas looked wrecked but clear-eyed and painfully sincere.

“Dean I want you. I know now, about all those things you still hold against yourself. I see you and I want you. Only you. Alright?”

Dean sniffed and nodded. “Al-alright. You know I love you too, right?” The words caught up to him and he clapped a hand over his mouth and fought the urge to run.

Cas’s answering smile was radiant and Dean found he actually wanted to stay.

_____________

Dean was singing.

He did that a lot these days.

Sunlight was streaming through the little window, open above the sink, a soft breeze floating across his face as he finished the last of the dishes. The radio was playing softly in the background and Dean bobbed along. 

He’d given a presentation for the design of the first floor of a hotel remodeling, and his professor loved it. He’d then gone to work (at the Hyatt), where he’d spent the afternoon convincing his boss that they should switch to a more eco-friendly electricity provider. He wasn’t sure if she bought into his plan, but she didn’t outright say no, so he was hopeful.

The sound of the front door groaning open and then the gentle thump of a suitcase pulled him from his thoughts. Drying his hands quickly, he ran around the corner to see Cas dropping his keys in the bowl by the door and he stopped to admire the view. 

Cas’s skin was more tan than when he’d left, and his cheeks were pink with happiness. He wore pressed grey trousers and a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. The vest over it accented the taper of his waist and the bright blue of the tie made his eyes appear even more vibrant. Or maybe that was just because Dean hadn’t seen them in three weeks. 

“Cas,” he breathed, and then he was in his arms.

They’d been living together for over a year, and every time Dean saw him there was still a flash of attraction that shot down his spine, and a glow of affection in his chest. The life they had together was in every way the life Dean never thought he’d be able to have.

Cas’s hands flew to Dean’s face, cupping his cheeks, running gentle thumbs at the corner of his mouth, searching, mapping, before tangling his fingers in Dean’s hair. 

“Missed. You. So. Much,” he gasped between kisses. Dean gave a muffled assent, keeping his hands on Cas’s hips before pulling away to look at him.

“You look incredible,” he said, and Cas blushed. 

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you haven’t gotten any in almost a month.”

Dean’s observed him seriously as he said, “No. I’m not.” The flush spread down to Cas’s chest, and after a shy smile he tucked his face into Dean’s neck. 

“Something smells good.” He perked back up, looking around Dean’s shoulder. “Did you make burgers?”

Following Cas into the kitchen, Dean chuckled. “Yeah. Wanted to celebrate your glorious return. How’d it go, by the way?” 

Cas pulled plates down from the cupboards while Dean fished the cookie sheet full of fries from the oven. 

“The mom thing or the work thing?”

Dean’s chest ached for a moment thinking about Naomi. Thinking about her reaction when she’d come home to find Dean and Cas curled up on the couch, Cas’s arms wrapped so tightly around him he slept through the night for the first time in years. The shrill of her voice had almost turned one of the best nights of Dean’s life into one of the worst. He’d expected her to kick him out, to get him fired. 

He hadn’t expected Cas to come with him.

“Work was great. Mom was…unproductive but pretty much what I was expecting. Hey,” Cas murmured, turning away from the counter brush his lips softly over Dean’s own. “You there?”

Dean nodded, momentarily glassy eyed thinking about how Cas had yelled right back at Naomi that morning, thrown every cruel statement back at her. Dean had stared at him as he systematically dismantled every negative thought he’d ever had about himself. They’d grabbed Anna and left, spent the night with Ellen. 

The next day Cas quit his job, Dean applied for the job at the Hyatt, plus the School of the Art Institute in their interior architecture program. He’d gotten through most of the paperwork, but froze at the portion of the application that required a sample of his work. He spent a week trying to convince Cas there was no way they’d let him in. Cas, the smartass that he was, stole the application Dean’d just finished, bundled it with Dean’s sketchbook in a business envelope, and sent it downtown.

Dean had panicked, yelled, calmed down after Cas pushed him up against the bedroom wall, and received his acceptance letter two weeks later. He was still thanking him.

“Dean?” 

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind the tears from his eyes.

“Sorry. Sorry, babe, I was just…” he exhaled hard. “Fuck, I fucking love you.”

Cas smiled and kissed him again. “And I you. Dinner?” 

“Hell yeah.” 

And suddenly, with that kiss, he was shaken from the past and into the present, where his beautiful boyfriend was stacking more cheese than was really acceptable on a hamburger and then opening two bottles of beer from the fridge. 

Their kitchen was tiny, hell, their apartment was pretty small, but it was theirs so Dean loved it. He nudged two chairs from beneath the scratched wooden table and they settled in to eat. 

Cas finished his burger in an astonishingly brief amount of time (“What? I’ve been living off of salads for three weeks”), then sat back to drink another beer and answer Dean’s incessant questioning about his time out of town.

Cas was technically still working in business, but instead of finding more money for already rich people, he worked to find donors for small business ventures, specifically in poverty stricken areas. He’d been at a conference in Las Vegas (there had been much teasing about strippers). In addition to company meetings and attending sessions by entrepreneurs and philanthropists, he’d also been asked to speak at one of the panels. His face lit up as he explained some of the great questions from some students in the audience. Cas always had more faith in people than Dean did. But maybe that was part of why they fit.

While Cas stopped to take off his vest and Dean got himself another beer, Anna texted, which derailed their conversation into how Anna was enjoying nursing school, how she had taken out a bunch of loans but already had a job lined up, about how Naomi disowning them turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened. 

Sure, Cas had taken a significant pay cut, Anna would be working her debt off for a decade or so, and Dean frequently dealt with panic attacks due to the stress of school and work, but holy shit, it was wonderful.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Dean said almost shyly as they carried the dirty dishes to the sink. “I missed you.”

Cas leaned over from where he’d started the water running and kissed Dean’s neck sweetly. When Cas’s teeth brushed over Dean’s clavicle he began to suspect some ulterior motives. 

“Me too. I’m glad to be back to a real bed and home cooked meals.” He glanced coyly from under his eyelashes at Dean, humor softening the obvious exclusion of something else he missed. 

Dean played along. “Mm-hm. I hear those hotel beds can be a bitch.”

Cas ran the plates under the water pretending not to be distracted by Dean’s hands creeping across his hips. “Awful.”

“And you can’t live off of fast food.”

“Obviously.” Cas’s voice had dropped quite a bit since Dean had started nosing at the nape of his neck. 

Dean untucked Cas’s shirt slowly, watching his long fingers in the water. “Must’ve been awful for you.”

Cas nodded distractedly. “Just awful.” 

Dean began popping the buttons of his shirt, pressing into Cas more closely than was strictly necessary even for that intimate activity, grinding against him.

A whine crept from Cas as Dean rolled his collar back and bit him where is neck and shoulder met, but then Dean froze.

He heard the smile in Cas’s voice as he said, “See for your self.” He straightened his arms so Dean could pull his shirt the rest of the way off, and Dean was subsequently rendered breathless.

Running the full length of Cas’s back, curling from the tops of his shoulders, wrapping his arms and dipping down beneath the waistband of his pants, was a tattoo of enormous wings. 

“Holy shit baby,” Dean breathed, running his knuckles over the blue-black plumage, intricately detailed. “Holy shit.”

Cas gave a breathless little laugh. “You like it?”

“Do I-” Dean was momentarily confused by the question. Confused that it was even a question. “Castiel this is fucking incredible. This is fucking…hot.”

Dean heard how his voice wavered, knew Cas must’ve too when he whipped around, a huge smile on his face and murmured, “Dean?”

“Yeah baby?” he sighed, running his hands over every inch of Castiel he could reach. 

“Let’s go to bed.”

The intense, measured calm shattered in a million pieces and suddenly they were shoving and pulling each other down the short hallway to their bedroom. Cas shoved Dean against the wall and ripped his jeans and boxers down, sinking to the floor and swallowing Dean down in a single movement.

“Oh fuck, oh shit, Cas, baby,” the hunger and the speed with which Cas took him had him painfully close to coming, but Cas teased him for a few minutes, lips stretched red and shiny around Dean’s cock. 

Dean yanked him back by the hair and although the growl of pleasure Cas gave made his knees weak he said, “You gotta stop. I’m already gonna come embarrassingly quickly.”

Cas laughed beautifully and said, “Thank God,” but stood, tugging Dean towards the bed. Dean undressed them both the rest of the way and spun Cas around, pushing him over the bed to continue looking at his tattoo. Or, as it turned out, tasting it. 

He bit again at the tops of the wings where they rested on his shoulders then scraped his teeth over Cas’s shoulder blades. 

“These are incredible. You get ‘em in Vegas?”

Cas shook his head and answered breathlessly. “No. Here. Before I left. I wanted to surprise you when I got back. Knew they’d take awhile to heal.”

“Ohmygod,” Dean groaned and continued working his way down. 

“Wanted these forever.”

Dean stopped at the dimples at the base of his spine to say, “Well, you are an angel, so…”

“Shut up.” Cas gave a laugh that turned into a strangled sound as Dean dipped his tongue down between Cas’s cheeks. “That’s it, get up here,” he panted and spun around to toss Dean down onto the bed.

Cas was wicked strong, and Dean loved it, loved when he drove Cas crazy enough to lose a little bit of that expertly cultivated control. Dean had expected him to pounce immediately, but as always, Cas defied his expectations and instead stood over him, chest heaving, raking his eyes across Dean’s body.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispered reverently as he crawled up and over, grabbing the lube as he went. Dean turned his head to the side, embarrassed, but snapped right back as a finger, cool with lube, teased he entrance. 

“Cas,” he whined. “Please. Been three goddamn weeks.”

“Please what, Dean?” Cas asked, a wicked coyness in his face. He knew Dean was generally shy about asking for things in bed, but Dean’s pleasure and happiness were his top priorities, so he encouraged Dean to talk at every possible opportunity.  
He was most certainly not expecting Dean to say, “Please put your fingers in me baby.” Cas hiss a breath, surprised, but Dean wasn’t done. “Please stretch me out, but not too much. Wanna be so tight for you baby. Want to feel you in my – ah- spine.” Cas slid a finger in, watching with awe. 

Dean noticed. Noticed the look of incredulous arousal on his boyfriends face, noticed the hand stroking his thigh was shaking. Taking a deep breath, he continued. 

“Want you to fuck me, Cas. Want to feel it for days. Want you to mark me up so everyone can see I’m yours.”

A broken little noise left Cas’s lips. They both had a thing for marking, but rarely talked about it. Dean ground up into the second finger he added.

“Want you to do what you want to me, baby. Whatever you want. Please, please Cas.”

“Jesus fucking Christ Dean.” He with drew his fingers and lined himself up. “You gotta tell me if I hurt you baby. You gotta let me know, ok?”

Dean nodded, frantically. “Yeah, of course, Cas I need – Ah!”

“I’ve got you,” Cas whispered as he pushed in slowly. “I’m here now.”

Dean whined the whole slow press of Cas’s cock until he was full, eyes closed, head thrown back, but then he looked straight at Cas and demanded, “Fuck me, Castiel.”

The air left Cas lungs in a whoosh and he snapped his hips forward, causing them both to cry out, setting a punishing pace, pinning Dean’s wrists above his head and winding a hand in his hair. 

Cas’s mouth never stayed still. He licked his way into Dean’s mouth roughly, drawing out whimpers and groans before brushing his lips tenderly over Dean’s face, his eyelids, cheeks, forehead. The combination of lust and love was exquisitely overwhelming and Dean spent a moment fighting back the wetness behind his eyes. 

The looked Cas’s face made Dean want to cry in the best way. He looked completely open, vulnerable, almost in pain with need and the stress of holding back for three weeks shaking him apart slowly but surely. 

They lasted longer than Dean had thought possible, rocking together, pressing as close after feeling empty and cold for three weeks, but then Cas made this noise, this groan that was too close to a sob and Dean wrenched a hand free and ran it over Cas’s lips then down his side. “I’m yours,” he gasped without even meaning too, and Cas shook completely apart. He bowed his head and sucked a bruise into the skin of Dean’s neck, high enough that everyone would see. “Mine.”

Dean could feel his release building faster than he could control it, but he knew he wasn’t alone. Angling his face up he warned, “Close, baby, I’m so close.”

“Yes,” Cas replied, voice tight, his eyes focused on the mark on Dean’s neck, but then he looked up. “Mine,” he repeated, and that was it.

Dean froze as his orgasm ripped through him, but Cas shuddered through his, tiny hitches and sobs echoing in the quiet room until Dean pulled him into his arms.

“I fucking love you, Castiel.”

His voice was breathless by Dean heard the smile. 

“I love you too.”

They would be a mess in the morning, but Dean didn’t care. He pulled the comforter over them and smiled out at the dusk, tinted with streetlights. 

“Gonna feel that for a few days,” he teased and Cas huffed a laugh. He glanced up a Dean, a little chagrined, but his voice was steady when he replied, “Good.”

They lay in silence for a moment, then Cas nuzzled into Dean’s neck. “Dean.”

“Hm?” he murmured sleepily.

“You saved my life.” 

Dean blinked down at him, surprised. “Huh? When?” He couldn’t tell, the light in the room was too dim, but Cas might’ve been blushing. 

“Day we met.”

Dean laughed. “Jesus you’re a sap.”

Cas was smiling shyly, and he shrugged. Dean chewed his lip for a moment before leaning down and kissing his forehead. 

“Cas.”

“Hm?”

“You too.”

 

The End


End file.
